To a Grandmother by Bernard Barton
Oh, say not so! A bright old age is thine,
Calm a the gentle light of summer eves,
Ere twilight dim her dusky mantle weaves;
Because to thee is given, in thy decline,
A heart that does not thanklessly repine
At aught of which the hand of God bereaves,
Yet all he sends with gratitude receives.
May such a quiet, thankful close be mine!
And hence thy fireside chair appears to me
A peaceful throne - which thou wert formed to fill;
Thy children ministers who do thy will;
And those grandchildren, sporting round they knee,
Thy little subjects, looking up to thee
As one who claims their fond allegiance still.
No comments:
Post a Comment